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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23077423">Paradise Found</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/magmadragon/pseuds/magmadragon'>magmadragon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pocket Monsters: Sword &amp; Shield | Pokemon Sword &amp; Shield Versions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But I want to explore Rose as a person, I have no idea where I'm going with this, Literary References &amp; Allusions, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, immigrant Rose???</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:20:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,941</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23077423</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/magmadragon/pseuds/magmadragon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose is young - and he is new to Galar. </p><p>He sees people - and they sweep past him.</p><p>He sees himself - lost &amp; alone.</p><p>He wants to make Galar his new home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title is based on John Milton's Paradise Lost - I haven't read it, don't sue me.</p><p>No idea how long this is going to drag out for - but I want to dig deep into him.</p><p>May be canon-divergent in some places - this is fiction of fiction, after all.</p><p>Will update ratings if needed.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He begins with the slightest tremble. A puff. He exhales the smoke and the ash forces a cough out of him. One thing after another, he thinks. He pens the thought down, writing it in lucid, cursive handwriting. He shuts the leather-bound journal, thinks a little about how he’s going to get his next meal. Nothing has him more worried than the idea of returning home. Melati, pursuant mother of two, his sister Azalea, the success, the lawyer, and him, the kid with the job nobody wants.</p><p>He puffs again. Scrambles for a lighter as the fluids leak out, pooling on the floor beneath him. The concrete structures surrounding him tower over like megaliths, their forms bearing down on him. He slowly gets up, punts the cigarette stub with his leather shoes - shined to a gleaming finish - and watches it tumble into a drain - splish! Walking away, the leather-bound journal dangles from his satchel. </p><p>He remembers the first time he did it. A euphoric rush of dopamine and adrenaline. Their tongues were wet against each other’s bodies. Going away was the hardest. Stay awhile with me, Rose, and your thoughts and spirit will come asunder. He still remembers the words etched in his heart and mind; the little drawing of the heart on the third page of that journal. Around it, surrounded by sketches; the subject unaware in most; front-facing in one, face a picture of utter joy.</p><p>He returns to Rose Tower, heels clicking against the tiled floor. He moves to the carpeted section of the tower - built from the blood and sweat of his own back. His lover, man of all things - gone. The workers have all gone home; payday came early this month as Christmas was just around the corner. He nurses a cup of instant coffee in the back pantry, the curlicues of steam rising from the cheap styrofoam cup. He loosens his tie in the heat, and swallows the rest of the coffee. </p><p>The lights go out on Wyndon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Loose Ends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>How does a Rose spend Christmas? Shrivelling in the garden as a young man cuts you off.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Won't stop making these puns rosier ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A snow warning is out before the coffee brews. Nearby, a copy of the latest PokéCeleb is draped neatly across the most conspicuous part of a sleeping torso. He shudders from the touch, and promptly puts food in the bowl. Jaya removes her trunk and digs in. </p><p>“Not now, my dear,” as he grabs the steaming mug (#1 Boss!). Jaya noses her bowl and jabs his stomach. After the Copperajah has pried the entire bag open - ziptie and all - he looks out to the view of Wyndon - a snow-covered wonderland where children ran about with joy. </p><p>Christmas was never a gift worth enjoying - there were instead calls from Melati (ignored), and generic greeting cards from Azalea (binned without opening). </p><p>“Rose, what’chu got there?”</p><p>“Oh, this?” He turns over the envelope - ‘Merry Christmas’ and a fancy wax insignia completes it. </p><p>“It’s nothing.” </p><p>“Isn’t that the insignia of the Handa family?”</p><p>Rose thrusts the envelope into his hands.</p><p>“You can open it if you want to.”</p><p>“You sure? It looks important.”</p><p>“For fuck's sake, Eric! Can you <i>please</i> drop it?”</p><p>Azalea opens her letterbox to find a note from her brother.</p><p>It’s binned - much like the pictures of him and Eric a day later. </p><p>He cites - “irreconcilable differences.” </p><p>But here he is - puffy-eyed as shards of glass lay strewn about the room. <i>Their</i> room. Eric takes to the Web to call him “a dick (in more ways than one),” and his personal favorite - “Hungover over Dover - he’s the only one who can stop this war. God save this fucking Drama Queen.” </p><p>So what if Eric wasn’t a person who left their laundry lying about? So what if he tolerated Rose bringing back Galdr fuck mates back to the flat they once shared? All that mattered was that it was his fucking tantrum that resulted in Rose sitting amongst a broken sea of glass - drenched in Kalosian red wine.</p><p>
  <i>It feels like I can’t do much without him by my side. So many times over did we fight for my independence - or what we thought it to be. He would think it was me spending time by myself - hours in the office planning Galar’s future with the occasional TV binge on the side - and I would think it was finishing work and coming back to loving arms, arms that I miss with such fervour. These arms I could ply my trade - but more than ever I missed the ability to really use my hands - for comforting, creating, and all other “c” verbs that didn’t involve cocksucking.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>How else does one love? Love begins when you start to love yourself - when you wake up each day with a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t fuck it up today. Even if you did, you promised yourself that another day would come. And the next. And the days leading up to hate. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>A lot of what I’d learnt had come from the fact that I’d spent a good chunk of my life wondering why I did to deserve this life - with all its wonders and false promises. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Then I realised that it wasn’t much different for anyone else - just the scale and magnitude of it. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Everyone was like everyone else.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Miserable and yet so ecstatic.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Even you. Fuck you.</i>
</p><p>Jaya is asleep - and Rose empties a bottle of wine in 5 minutes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Spring</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>New Years, new resolution.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi friends! Now I have more time to update, and I'll be doing it more often now. Hope you're all keeping safe &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Wake. Feed Jaya. Bathe. Get dressed. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Go to work, and wonder why every other page is marked red. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Oleana, bless her, had these out before sunrise. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Attend meetings. Listen to this cute blond scientist talk about improving the Dynamax Band. Observe as Oleana glances up and his face turns red. Smile, and think of Galar.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Have lunch with board members. Smile. Eat as your eyes wander to the cute blond. He is poking his salad, so you sidle up to him. He looks at you. You smile. His face flushes red. The rest eat, and Oleana shoots them down in between bites of raw steak.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>You learn his name is Jun. He was brought in two weeks prior, but you were away in Kalos. He’s Oleana’s assistant. She mentioned his credentials — from Unova, with a doctorate in renewable energy, but you were busy peeking at your drawers.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He comes back to your apartment. The company has no hold when <b>you</b> are the company. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>It isn’t his first time, and yet you remind yourself he isn’t <b>him</b>. He works with a swift tongue, and you feel the heat rising within you. He falls asleep on your chest; you like his closed eyes and short bursts of breath. Jaya has wide eyes, and you smile at her. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>It has been a long time.</i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Found</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”</p><p>― Kahlil Gibran</p><p>"I understand lost love, and I think that can destroy a man more than anything if it was a deep love that is lost somehow."</p><p>— Sam Elliot</p><p>"When you are infatuated and it's not reciprocated - don't become despondent, love will find you, of that I am confident."</p><p>— Anonymous</p><p>" Love is never finding a hand that perfectly fits yours. It is finding the one who is willing to hold your hands no matter how unfit it may be."</p><p>— Nishan Pawar</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm back! And a bit more steamy action this time. Little bit rusty from writing, so you may notice edits from time to time.</p><p>Hope everyone's doing well and keeping safe! &lt;3</p><p>10 points for the reference if you catch it... ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is the smell of eggs that stirs Rose from his sleep. </p><p>“Good morning, Rose,” he calls out from behind him.</p><p>Arms wrap, and Rose responds in kind.</p><p>“I got us eggs, you were out for quite a while.”</p><p>“...thanks.”</p><p>In between bites of scrambled egg and sugared lattes (milky white swirls in the shape of a rose — how sweet), Jun steals glances at the painting hanging above the fireplace.</p><p>“Rose?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“That’s —” </p><p>It was ten years prior, on a day much like this one. He had fried eggs for him, and the coffees were brewing when he wrapped his arms around Rose. </p><p>“Rose?”</p><p>He feels like fire and starlight, Rose thinks. </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>Hanging above the fireplace, a painting of roses in a vase – painted in lush hues of red and pink. A single fallen flower by the wayside. Light reflecting off at just the right places. A Kalosian masterpiece — it must have cost him a fortune.</p><p>“More eggs?”</p><p>He looks at Jun, holding out a spoon. </p><p>“Needs more salt.”</p><p>It was a day like this — and Rose was cooking, ass bared to the fortunate viewer. He will never forget the way his blood ran, and the eggs burnt to a hardened crisp.</p><p>Jun grumbles about unhealthy eating, and taps twice on the shaker. Rose feels him stiffen, and as the eggs are plated, the yolk is not the only thing that’s running.</p><p>“Hungry?”</p><p>“Food is secondary, dear Jun.”</p><p>Jun finds himself placed upon the bed, and Rose’s eyes sweep over a body that is most palatable: full of subtleties, rich flavour, and perfect texture.</p><p>Rose remains keen-eyed as he begins tracing tips with tongue, and lips with head. Jun is breathing short little gasps — the kettle had boiled over when the lovers made love that day.</p><p>“You’re beautiful,” he avows — and that is but the beginning.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Belonging</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A brief moment of the past, and what it holds for the present.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Getting back into the groove, and I realised these short bursts help me write more easily.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even within the walls of the office, his eyes are in a distant space — it is a moment with Peony, where Jaya and her sister stood watch over the sleeping boys. </p><p>It is the moment where he sits huddled under the blankets, and the only glow that comes is Peony’s smile as he tells a story.</p><p>With every inhale, he thinks of the clouds that Azalea points at — a little Jumpluff, a brief wisp of a Gastly, and when her fingers are tired he tucks her into bed to see them.</p><p>The evening sky is sinking beneath the eaves of the tower, and he thinks about the man whom he loved so dearly — and how much Eric resented his name. The mere sound of it was enough.</p><p>As the Corviknight bounds skyward, the only thought he has is how much Jun would’ve loved to see this.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Red</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Red is the colour of passion and anger.</p><p>It is also the colour of roses.</p><p>Rose takes a moment to reflect.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm back-ish, enjoy another chapter of angst. </p><p>Hope everyone reading this is doing well and keeping safe. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rose is at the balcony, bottle of red in hand.</p><p>It’s so hard to imagine a world where people are conscientious about the effect their words have on others.</p><p>More often than not, it becomes the bitterness you find when you shout at a well-meaning partner, or a snide remark to a hurting friend.</p><p>When you choose to perpetuate the cycle, your grudges have now matured into the twisted trees of bitterness.</p><p>The funny thing is people are rarely aware of how far it goes — because to them it was just a joke, a bit of teasing, or an attempt to lighten the mood.</p><p>The trap may forget the Deerling, but the newborn buck — when he is a Sawsbuck — he will crash his horns into the young child with her palm open, and full of berries. She spooks him as much as the thoughtless hunters who lay the traps that hurt him.</p><p>The frightened child will drop her berries and cry, and the buck — if he’s lucky — will flee with cloven hooves to the forest’s edge. </p><p>If he’s unfortunate to have courted the fates, then he will feel the familiar sting of buckshot and the snarls of Houndoom.</p><p>He will remember the child — not for the berries she held aloft, but for the ringing cries and the rush of blood that followed.</p><p>--</p><p>"When you are done with him, I'll be waiting right <i>here</i>."</p><p>The words are hurled from across the sea of broken glass. </p><p>The young man on his bed quivers beneath the covers, his blond locks barely peeking.</p><p>"Eric, I —"</p><p>"Enough!"</p><p>Rose startles.</p><p>He feels his jaw clench, and he spits — and his contempt lands on Eric's cheek. </p><p>The one he loved for its fullness. </p><p>The one he pinched in merriment just the night before.</p><p>Eric flushes, and his eyes turn misty. </p><p>His voice is firm: "We're done, Rose."</p><p>The last Rose sees of him is the wheels of his luggage rounding the corner and vanishing.</p><p>--</p><p>The same bottle of red that he grips so tightly now, it is one of many that Eric gifted him months ago. Rose's favourite brand of Kalosian port.</p><p>The wine that stained the hardwood floors of their shared apartment.</p><p>Tonight, he takes one glass and goes to bed in tears.</p>
  </div></div>
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